


Kiss of Judas

by EbonyMortisRose



Series: The story of Dylan Jackal & Mr Hyde [4]
Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Blood and Gore, Heavy Angst, Henry Renfield Dylans sire, Husband of Mary Reid, M/M, Mental Instability, My Skal OC Dylan Jackal, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Results of mental link left open when progeny turned into a skal.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:13:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25404412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EbonyMortisRose/pseuds/EbonyMortisRose
Summary: Dylan now aware that he is a monster has to contend with the annoy, seemingly mad prattle, of his sire Henry echoing in his mind through their shared mental link.This link has been open ever since Dylan turned into a Skal. His sire choosing to try to use it, to constantly remind him of who he once was. But their combined beasts appears to have taken on a whole personality of its own.
Series: The story of Dylan Jackal & Mr Hyde [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821553
Kudos: 1





	Kiss of Judas

Dylan Jackal still lay on his back, where he had landed after escaping from the underground hell, known as the Parisian catacombs.  
He didn't want to move, even though he knew he should. He just wanted to savor this moment of peace for as long as it lasted. Anyone seeing him, he thought, would think he was a corpse. Perhaps struck down by a cart or a homeless person Secombe to disease.

He stared, straight up at the cloudy night sky. Not wanting to close his eyes, never wanting to willingly go back into that endless void, ever again, even for a moment.  
  
Then he heard a noise he hoped never to hear again. The high pitched whistle of incoming artillery fire.  
Suddenly he was back in the trenches. His survival instincts taking over his actions, as he scrambled to his feet, and ran for the nearest cover. Which he found to be the smashed in front of a shop. Its front brick face obliterated by some large detonation, leaving the interior two floors exposed like a life-sized dollhouse with its front open.  
Feeling a presence with him, forgetting in that panicked moment it was Henry, he yelled. "INCOMING!", and dove over a small stone wall, landing on broken furniture and glass.

He curled up into the fetal position as the shell screamed overhead, hitting a structure further down the street with an almighty boom.  
The floor shuck beneath him, as he rocked, holding his head trembling, thinking this can't be right, he was in Paris. Not on the front lines in Ypres, no guns could reach the capitol.  
How long had he been raving in the dark, whilst his homeland had been invaded?

_ 'Tis perhaps the countdown to oblivion for the once-proud city of Paris?' _

_ 'Henry, what happened?' _

_ 'I saw them build machines made for endless war.' _

He sees in his mind's eye, through someone crouched behind a wall. Peering at German soldiers moving a massive artillery gun into place. The shells being loaded were at least 3ft long. The gun barrel it was fired from, was like something he had only seen on tanks, but much larger. He saw It had a large crank handle at the side to elevate the barrel to increase the distance to miles, rather than feet.

_ 'Mon Dieu!' _

_ 'Look outside, look what real monsters are capable of.' _

When the tremors of the impact finally died away. The debris under him cracks and crunches as he unfurls himself slowly, like a snail coming out of its shell.  With even more apprehension he peers over the wall he had jumped over.  
Looking with his supernaturally enhanced, undead eyes at the grey world outside.

Across from him, he could make out the remnants of structures. The skeletal remains of businesses and homes. Reduced in some cases to burnt and blackened rubble. No building along the whole of the road as far as he could see left or right had not been damaged in some way. The lucky ones that still had their fronts intact had their windows boarded up, or blackout curtains drawn.  
Though he was horrified at this devastation, it wasn't what drew his immediate attention. On the front step of a building that looked like it used to be a cafe, was a child's empty shoe.  
Even from this distance he could see it was a little boot, covered in dark rust coloured stains. 

This wasn't a military depot. This wasn't an airbase. This was just a street with families and businesses and children.  
He balled his hands into fists, his claws digging into his palms. The pain, a welcome distraction from the howl of the beast inside wanting to get vengeance. His sight shifted into the hunters spectrum, looking for prey. Looking for anything to take out his mounting rage on.  
He saw numerous rats scurrying about in the rubble and was surprised to see, even in one or two of the buildings, which he thought were unoccupied; the huddled shapes of people, hearts pounding rapidly with fear.

_**Fear** - _ He felt it, like a suddenly cool breeze against the back of his neck making him shiver.  He wasn't afraid, he was livid. He wanted to tear these ravages of his homeland apart.  No, this was coming from Henry.

_ ‘What's wrong?’ _

_ ‘He's going to kill me, the big bad wolf.’ _

_ ‘What, Is someone there with you? Are you in danger?’ _

_ ‘As I pondered merely napping, suddenly there came a tapping, tapping, at my chamber door.’ _

_ ‘If anyone is going to have the pleasure of killing you Henry, it's going to be me! Where are you?’ _

_ ‘He was in pain. Who do soldiers cry out for when they are in pain? Granny let the grinning wolf in. She should not have invited him in.’ _

_ ‘What are you?...‘ _

He turned back to look more closely at the shop's dust-coated sign, there was something familiar about it.  La Maison Rose, he knew that cafe. The owner Jean was a childhood friend of his....”Maman!”  
He blinked, teleporting out into the middle of the street once more, and began looking around frantically at what he now recognised to be the beginning of the Champs-Élysées.  
His parent's bookshop was only a few streets away. Oh god, he thought, please let them be alright! 

_ ‘He's coming, he's going to kill me, the big bad wolf.’ _

His anxiety, combined with Henry's mounting fear made him part run, part teleport along the road.  His rapid disappearing and reappearing form must have appeared to any onlookers like a phantom of a dead soldier.  
Flickering into existence, only to vanish once more. And when it did reappear it stumbled a few times on loose rubble Or could be heard snarling as it landed awkwardly on splintered wood and broken shards of glass cutting its feet and hands.

With each jump, the beast crawled closer and closer to the surface, reveling in the thrill of the chase.  In his frantic state, he lost count of how many jumps he had taken to finally get in front of his parent's bookshop.   
All he realised when he came to a halt, was that he was so thirsty. He felt like he had run a marathon through the desert, in the midday sun and desperately needed to quench his parched throat. But he knew this monstrous shell he now resided in, did not require water, It wanted blood. It demanded it. Every fiber in his being screamed for it. 

His vision slipped into the beasts spectrum once more, desperate to seek out that which it desired.  He felt it slither up his spine, slowly taking over his rational senses. The sheer weight of the need causing him to bend over, crouch, and take on a more animalistic stance like a coiled snake ready to strike.  His head began to twitch left and right looking for those beacons of delicious red light.  He saw masses of rats, swarming around the base of the building and even a dozen or more scattered throughout the various levels of the structure. 

Why were there so many? His fading rational mind asked.  Come on Dylan focus! Why are you here? It wasn’t to feed. It wasn’t to tear apart those tempting pulsing morsels.

STOP!, Think!

He closes his eyes and clenches his fists focusing on Henry's feelings of fear. Letting them wash over him, c ooling the burning need to slake his ravenous thirst.  
He had no doubt that Henry was in that building. The link between them was so strong now, it was like he was stood by his side. Cowering, sniveling, mumbling words of regret.

When he opened his eyes once more, his world had turned back into the naturally muted greys and blacks of night, and he could see before him the thankfully intact bookshop he had once called home.  
Its main bay window was boarded up from the inside, the outer glass having been smashed by possible looting attempts.  
Even without his new undead senses, he could detect the stench of decay that emanated from the front door, which grew stronger as he approached.  He knew the door would be locked but tried the handle anyway, even bashing his shoulder up against the wood frame to try to gain admittance.

“Henry, let me in i know you’re in there!”

_ ‘Not by the hair on my chinny chin chin!’ _

"Henry!", _BASH!_

"What have you done to my parents?", _BASH!_

_ ‘It was the beast, it was not I!’ _

With his waves of fear came flashes of imagery. The bloody pulsing silhouette of a woman, hands raised in front of her. Her pleas for mercy drowned out by the vibrant thrumming of her heart.  Her gargled screams when they come sends Dylan into a renewed effort to rip the door in front of him off its very hinges.  
He snarls with frustration, as the sturdy door aided by whatever was placed behind it to support it failed to give in.  Panting, he began to stalk around the side of the property looking for another way in.  
The shop was in the middle of two other terraced properties. Each having a small archway to the left of the main door, that lead around the backs to small walled off gardens.  
Once around the back, he could see the downstairs window and backdoor had also been boarded up. But the upstairs patio window appeared only to have blackout curtains, or a dark sheet covering it from within.  
It had a small balcony with a weather worn wicker rocking chair on it, that he remembered his mother used to sit on and knit, humming some merry tune, content with her lot in life.

He snarled and lept for that level, not caring if it burnt up the very last of his reserves. He’d let the beast drink its fill once inside, his humanity be damned he thought.  
His teleport landed him on the iron railing that surrounded the balcony. From there he didn't waste a second pushing off with his clawed bare feet and diving straight through the glass of the window.  
He crashed through, taking the curtain with him. It momentarily stopped his charge as he got caught up in its material and quickly ripped it apart in frustration.  
His speech had now been reduced to snarls and growls, as he finally untangled himself from the offending article.

Now on all fours he saw his prey sat in the corner of the room. Huddled behind a fort of books. Its red pulsing heart was slow, barely moving.  
But he could sense, no, feel the delicious fear radiating off it. Good, that made the meat so much sweeter.  
He crawled forward, his hands crushing small furry bodies as he moved. Their empty shells he noted were scattered all over the floor. The rank smell of death and decay permeated the air, it made him salivate.

_ ‘Why grandma, what big eyes you have! ‘ _

The prey's thoughts buzzed in his brain like an annoying horsefly. Fine he thought, he enjoyed playing with his food.

He growls out “All the better to see you with my dear.” As he inches closer.

_‘Mmmy...what big teeth you have!’_ Henry's terrified thoughts stuttered in his fevered mind.

He runs his tongue over his serrated teeth and snarls. “All the better to eat you with!” and leaps.

**_'STOP!'_ **

The word is like a physical blow to his forehead, making his leap turn into a stagger. Halting him a few feet from the prey.  He whimpers with frustration, unable to move even an inch closer to that red pulsing river of salvation. He was so _thirsty.  
_ He watches as the prey reaches out a hand slowly to an object on a table to its right. There's the scratch of a match and then he's blinded momentarily as an oil lamp is turned up.  
Squinting, he focuses his attention on the prey's slow beating heart. Come, come, come, it beckons.  
With gritted teeth, he manages to drag one foot forward, pushing with all his mental might against an invisible force.

**_'TAKE OFF YOUR MASK DYLAN.'_ **

Before he could question the command, his hands had already slipped the gasmask off his face.  Good, he thought, now he could see his prey better. Now he could smell the delicious iron scent of blood that clung to nearly every surface.  
Wait. He sniffs and looks about the room. Now lit by the orange glow of the lamp, he could see the multitude of desiccated rat corpses that littered the wooden floor. There were so many, you could scarcely see the floorboards underneath.  
He saw blood splatter on the walls and even the ceiling from something far bigger than a rat that had put up a struggle. 

_ Flash _ \- red-veined hands outstretched pleading.

“Maman!” The words come out guttural and cracked. 

He drops the mask and staggers into the adjoining room he knows is his parent's bedroom.  There are more stains here on the floor, some of which have patches of fuzzy grey mold growing on them.  
He's hit with the acrid stench of old vomit and rotted meat as he steps inside.

_ 'He made me consume flesh, we can’t digest it. - SORROW - REGRET -DISGUST. _

The room is shrouded in darkness, the window in here still covered by thick drapes.  But with the combined light behind him from the oil lamp and his preternatural sight, he can make out the contents of the room.  
It contains a simple nightstand and a wire-framed double bed.  On the bed under a stained cover is a random set of lumps. There wasn’t enough left of the decomposed corpse underneath to fill out the form of a body, his senses tell him.  
And With a trembling hand, he grabs hold of the bottom of the patchwork quilt. He recognises, made from little scraps of his clothes he had grown out of and she refused to throw away.  
Tears begin to roll down his cheeks, as he remembers her saying It comforted her, to know little pieces of her boy kept her warm at night when he was not there to hold her himself.

As he pulled, thin strands of matted grey hair began to appear, attached to the yellow flaking crown of a skull.  The slow movement of the blanket disturbed insects that had nestled within the recess of the skull. And when the eye sockets, now empty, came into view. Something scuttled out of one of them, running over the cheek bone like a living black tear. It dropped off onto the soiled pillow, then scurried back under the blanket, to join its brethren in the moist fetid darkness, to continue its feast.

_Feasting - Flash_ \- He held his mother like a little boy wanting comfort. His embrace was so tight he could feel her rib cage crack with the strain. He was mumbling, no Henry was mumbling against the crook of her neck,  in a strange doubled cadence.

_ ‘’Help me Maman, I'm lost in the dark and I'm so hungry.’’ _

He feels Henry sink his fangs into the warm supple flesh of her neck, carelessly hitting the carotid artery. B lood gushes into his mouth and he greedily swallows mouthful, after mouthful. But he doesn't stop there, he can feel the beast demanding more. More of this soothing red mother milk.   
Part of him rebels as he, _they_ , bite deeper. An Ekon's fangs were not made to render. But in that moment he was not Henry, he was not Dylan, he was their combined hunger, their combined beasts, and _it_ tore out his mother's throat. Swallowing a mouthful of the delicious, pulsing flesh and sinew.

Reliving this horrifying act, both Henry and Dylan cry out at the same time. He's then forced to watch through Henry's eyes as his mother's body falls limp to the floor. He then staggers utterly disgusted with what he had done, what the beast had made him do, and falls to his knees in the bedroom doorway and vomits up the indigestible meal.

Then Dylan finds himself on his knees, back in his own body having followed the vile vision to its conclusion.  His mind was a roaring maelstrom of cries for help, of bile, spat last words, of gargled screams. So many, they had killed so many!  
He let out an agonising screech, grabbing his ears. Even knowing it wouldn't drown out the noise inside his head.   
But he realises now, that horrendous cry the skals made was not one of beastial fury. They were screaming to drown out the multitude of voices wailing inside their veins, trapped forever in the hellscape of their own blood-drenched minds.   
They screamed in confusion, not rage. Just wanting it to stop. Not understanding that with each kill another damned soul was added to the wretched chorus.  
He knew what they were, he could now make out each cry for help. Each cut off scream. Each yell of _'Monster!'_ , _'Die leech!'_ , _'My son will end you demon!'_. That last one made him squeeze his eyes shut, trying in vain to stop the accompanying flood of images and emotions and he throws his head back and howls.

_'PLEASE!'_ he screamed in his mind. _'MAKE IT STOP! I CAN'T TAKE ANYMORE!!!'_

He then feels two hands, rough with grime, slide over the top of his own currently covering his ears.  Then sticky lips press against his and he hears Henry's soothing voice. 

_‘I’m here my brave soldier, it's going to be alright.’_

His words are like a soothing balm, easing the raging, burning pain he was experiencing, both physically from hunger and mentally from anguish.  
  
He risks opening his eyes and he's back there in the trench in Ypres, staring into those azure pools. Reliving the first time Henry had kissed him.   
The screams and cries are muffled by the thunderous booming of artillery guns. But He knows in this mindscape if he looks down at his feet he will see the remnants of his, _their,_ many victims. A writhing mass of tattered and torn flesh. like a river out of hell.

_ 'look at me, see how I see you.' _

He's then seeing through Henry's eyes. looking at his wide and frightened green ones, surrounded by his dirt riddled, but very much alive unscarred face.  
  
T he screeching sound of an artillery shell flying through the air towards them turns into a woman's scream of pain. When it impacts the earth, just above their heads, the fleshy mass at their feet begins to ungulate even more.  
There's the sickly, wet sloppy sounds of blood and organs sliding over one another as he feels them glide over his bare feet.   
Their lips, still pressed together begin to tremble, as he feels a detached woman's hand with delicate long fingers brush passed his ankle. They know it was his mothers.  
With each new impact, the wails began to get loud and louder again. The vile river at his feet slowly rising, now at his ankles.

They both say together _‘Please, make it stop!... I didn't mean to do this!’_

_ 'We didn't he did.' _

Dylan then hears behind him, the squelching sound of something moving through this river of gore.  It rises up behind him and comes so close, its foul breath makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand on edge.  
Two blood coated hands with long deadly claws slide over his shoulders and squeeze. It was the beast, it was the monster within, the thing that Henry had turned him into!  


**_'Yessss, it's is all his_ ** **_fault’_** He feels a long slimy tongue licks at his ear.

**_‘He is a harbinger of disease, he must be stopped. He did this to you and he will do it to others.’_ **

_ 'No, I..' _

He wanted to say he cared for or even loved this man in front of him. But those words did not seem adequate to express the bond he now had with him. He was his world, as mad and fractured as it was now.  
He could have abandoned him after the change went wrong. But he chose to stay by his side, losing his own self and sanity in the process.

_‘This is my last gift to you, my beautiful brave soldier. You, **Dylan Jackal, did not** do those awful things. **He did**. Our combined hunger, our combined beasts, our own Mr.Hyde.'  
_ _ 'Give him form, give him substance in your mind. Let him battle the vengeful cries of  **his** victims, night after night. Remember the man you once were. He will always be there under the mask of that monster.  
'You were a father, you are a husband. You are a good man. And I love you.’ _

Dylan feels tears run down his cheek and his nostrils flare at the scent of blood. The overwhelming shared feeling of sorrow and want of forgiveness becoming too much for him to hold back those vital low reserves.  
T here's then a guttural snigger in his ear, as that long tongue glides around once more, licking up one of the wayward drops. The thing then hums with delight. 

**_'Dyyyyllllannnn...You taste divine... I want more!.'_ **

Through their connection, Dylan feels Henry bite down onto his own tongue, then presses his lips even further against his own and begins parting his lips with the bleeding appendage, probing, offering.  
When his own cracked and dry tongue meets his, there's a sudden feeling like he's been jolted by electricity. H is hands pull away from his ears, grabbing the back of Henry's head. He knows his grip is painful, desperate, but he doesn't care. He has to have more, he needs more.

Henry tilts his head slightly, giving him a better angle to chase and suck every last drop of that nectar that was now filling their mouths. It instantly began to soothe his parched throat from days, no months of screaming in the dark.  
His own serrated teeth clumsily tore deeper gashes into the small muscle, almost severing it with the severity of his kiss. If that's what this could be called. it was more akin to a mother bird feeding its young, ramming much needed sustenance down a hungry snapping maw.

_**'Take, devour, need, more!**_ '- The beast growled.

_ ‘That's it my progeny, take all of me.’ _

Along with the blood come floods of imagery, sensations, feelings, the very essence of Henry..Henry Renfield. The Victorian gentleman given his own dark kiss by a man who was part of a club. Sinful, forbidden fruit, velvet drapes, hushed whispers, gold lettering on a plain black business card that reads 'Do what thou wilt.'  
Then comes the all too familiar  sorrow of losing his wife and son to childbirth. Followed by the thrill of battle. He joined to feel alive again, he had nothing to lose, then he met Dylan. 

He greedily continues to lap and suck at henry's bleeding tongue, gulping down mouthfuls of that rich metallic wine. H e feels him grow weaker through the bond. Then his hands, no longer having the strength to hold his face drop loose at his sides. But still, the kiss goes on.

_ 'I will always be with you. My...beautiful..brave..soldier...forgive me.' _

Henry's tongue then stops moving in his mouth and he slumps forward touching their foreheads together.  The only thing keeping him upright was Dylan's desperate grip on his head.  
Then, as if there had been a power outage, the buzz of radios with their screaming static in his mind suddenly stops. The absence of noise is so overwhelming he stops drinking and pulls back, feeling like he's suddenly gone deaf.

There are no wails of agony, no crippling waves of conflicting emotions. Nothing but stillness.

‘Henry?’

He lifts up the now slack and very pale face of his maker. Panic washes over him as his vampiric vision detects no red glow emanating from him.

“Henry! Please don't leave me here alone!”

His bloody tears run down his cheeks as he cradles the cold man to him and begins to rock. 

“Please come back” he sobs. “I forgive you, I can't win this war alone.”

There's then a gentle purr in his mind and he knows it not Henry.

_**‘You are not alone.’** _

He looks down at the corpse of his maker, his red tears dropping onto his withered features and gets an idea.

_**'DON'T! , Don't bring him back to this nightmare! Give him true peace, his war is over.'** _

His eyes flick over the ramshackle room spotting an upturned table and settle on one of it's legs.

_ ‘No, I can't!’ _

**_'Then let me.'_ **

He shuts down then, retreating back into himself. Doing what he was good at, walling off his emotions. Not thinking, this one time letting the beast have control.   
He watches his hands gently lower Henry's body to the floor. Then stand and pace over to the table and with a strength he didn't know he possessed, snap off one of the table legs.  
H e can't watch what happens next, it's too much, it's all been too much, and just like the welcoming void offered at the approach of dawn, his world goes black.

**Author's Note:**

> The continuing story of my oc Dylan Jackal/Hyde from the Vampyr discord server.  
> I've never written a long story like this before and hope you are enjoying it. My grammar and spelling is atrocious I know.  
> But If you like what I have written so far, please give a nervous writer some love.


End file.
